


Dialogue of the Grotesque

by goldenteaset



Series: Swapping Fates [5]
Category: Fate/Zero, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Harm to Animals, Harm to Children, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Repression, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 09:34:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4661673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenteaset/pseuds/goldenteaset
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Caster’s eyes snap open to the soft sound of retreating feet. He leans forward a little in his stiff wooden chair, wide awake thanks to his years of soldiering. There’s a lamp glowing dully on the desk by his chair, which isn’t that strange—Kirei is the type to study scripture and apocrypha late into the night, and Caster heard the light turn on before he slept. What <i>is</i> strange, however, is that there’s no scripture to be seen.</p>
<p> And Caster’s spellbook isn’t where he left it.</p>
<p>It’s resting close at hand, but a patch of lamplight illuminates the spine—and the book was certainly out of the light before…</p>
<p>Caster chuckles knowingly to himself and settles back in his chair. <i>Ah, the boundless curiosity of youth...</i>"</p>
<p>Kirei summons Caster, and discovers joy through more...<i>hands-on</i> methods.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dialogue of the Grotesque

**Author's Note:**

> I actually started this fic before "A Forming Bond", but set it aside for...obvious reasons. I'm still unsure about the rating--I mean, I never _show_ the "human art", and what we see is vague enough to pass for hard PG-13, I think. Still...I'm probably never going to write in Caster's POV again. *shudders* 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Fate/Zero.

Caster makes his grand entrance in a decidedly _not_ grand room. The leather-bound books are a pleasant sight (clearly this is a study of some kind), but the dust and the silence are too bland to appreciate. The smoke that accompanied his arrival doesn’t help at all. Thankfully, he doesn't sneeze.  _  
_

“Well done, Kirei,” says a calm, deep voice to Caster's left. Such a pleased, almost smug tone can only belong to a proud mentor. “You are truly part of this Holy Grail War, now.”

“Thank you, my Master.” The answerer sounds more bored than thrilled at the news. “Now our plan can begin.”

Caster waits impatiently for the smoke to recede. Once the glowing Command Seals of his Master come into view, along with brown hair and eyes, the tanned skin of one who enjoys the warmth of the sun, and the kind of regal bearing perfect for the stage, he finds himself rather intrigued already. _What does unbridled terror look like on that placid face of yours, I wonder?_

He calls out the traditional query:

“I ask of you—”

He falters once he catches sight of the cross dangling like a golden yoke from his Master’s neck. Disgust and sadness alike roil inside his chest. _To think that such a monstrosity, such an accursed_ dictatorship _still holds sway! I must wrest my Master from the clutches of that vile arbiter called God!_

“Oh, what a tragedy, my Master…you, too, have been ensnared. God is still an addictive, destructive force even in this era, I see! Yes, your eyes…they show your pain, your longing to be free from God’s unbending will!”

“…I don’t follow,” Kirei says, though the tic in his jaw claims otherwise.

“You understand, despite your clouded vision! Come, tear apart the veil, unbind the chains from your desires—”

“—Can you understand him?” Kirei’s teacher rudely interrupts, glancing between the two of them in dull confusion. “All I can hear is gibberish.”

“He’s a madman.” Kirei’s expression is as still as a frozen lake. “…Is there a way to return Servants?”

“Aside from in battle with another Servant, I’m unsure.”

Caster drags his fingers across his scalp. “I’m no parcel to be returned!”

Kirei’s teacher strokes his goatee thoughtfully. “You _could_ perform an exorcism…but that could disrupt the ritual.”

Caster points a jagged-nailed finger at Kirei’s rude teacher. “You are clearly assisting with God’s hold on my Master. Your influence must be eliminated at once!”

Kirei’s Command Seals glow like embers. “By my Command Seals, I order you to not harm my teacher Tokiomi Tohsaka.”

Caster’s heart sinks as the harsh compulsion overwhelms him. “But…very well, Master.”

Kirei’s teacher departs with a relieved expression, leaving Master and Servant alone.

“I’m going to bed,” Kirei says, turning on his heel and striding away. “You should rest as well…” He turns his head to look at Caster, his eyes as dark as usual. “What should I call you?”

Caster’s vision blurs, and his lips curl into a gleeful smile. “Hmm…there are many things you could call me. But for now, Bluebeard will do.”

Kirei blinks slowly. “But you have no beard.”

Caster was hoping he’d say that. “Do you wish to know of my exploits, Master? Very well! I shall regale you with my blasphemy—”

“— _No_.” Kirei yawns. “I told you, we’re going to bed. Goodnight…Caster.”

Caster lets out a long, forlorn sigh and acquiesces.

\---

It appears Caster was the first to be summoned; he’s pleased to discover that this ensures him plenty of time to get to know his wayward soul of a Master.

Unfortunately, said Master is both a lamb and shepard of God, blindly following His teachings without thinking twice. Indeed, for someone the Grail deemed worthy of mastery, Kirei doesn’t fit the description _at all._ It’s quite perplexing.

Caster spends his time in Spirit Form when Kirei is performing his duties. Cherubic children temptingly scamper about, heedless of his presence, watched over by placid adults. They follow their Holy rituals like windup toys, never changing or missing a beat. It’s enough to make him want to ring their necks three at a time— _How_ dare _you people stand here, singing praises to a so-called Father who cares nothing for you? How dare you willingly lap up his lies?_

He knows why. He remembers well the sound of voices raised in harmony, the soul-moving _chime_ of church-bells, the pleasant smell of incense and the tranquility of God’s house. _My dear Jeanne carried those details within her very soul; if you split open her chest, what could burst forth but the warmth of Holy light?_

“Caster,” Kirei interrupts his musings. “I need to see you.”

He assumes this means “become corporeal” and obliges. The ceremonies have ended, and only Kirei is left to mind the church. They sit on a pew, Kirei with his arms folded across his chest, Caster with his spell book in his hands.

“What is it, Master?” Caster asks, averting his eyes from the blinding sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows.

Kirei opens his mouth, then closes it. After a long pause he asks: “Your clothes…they look like a court magician’s. Did you serve a King?”

He never noticed that before. He looks at his garb curiously then shrugs. “I spent some time at King Charles’ court, but I was a soldier, not a jester.”

“A soldier…? I see.” Kirei looks at him out of the corner of his eye. “And yet you’re a Caster.”

Caster grins slyly. “I dabbled in the occult on more than one occasion. Alas, I never _did_ summon a demon. But…” He holds out his spellbook for Kirei to see. “Behold, the beautiful simplicity of the Grail’s gift to me! This book belonged to my dear friend Prelati, a Mage of some renown. Examine the binding’s sumptuous detail!”

Kirei moves forward—so subtly it’s nearly missed—before inching a little further down the pew. “That… _thing_ is made of _human skin_. I won’t touch something so unclean.”

“…Oh.” He squints down at the spell book for any bloodstains or gore and finds none— _Perhaps the binding is the issue?_ “Master…you are aware that books are often bound in cow leather?”

“That’s a different matter entirely.” Kirei relaxes his arms and rests his hands on his knees. “Cows aren’t as intelligent as us. We can reason and understand our fellow man. Using them as—as _meat_ —that’s sinful and cruel.”

Caster sighs and stands. “Very well. May I use this Noble Phantasm in battle, at least?”

“Of course. You _were_ brought here to fight, after all.” There’s something _strange_ in Kirei’s voice, something between amusement and apathy.

Caster wants to hear that sound again, and soon.

\---

That night, Caster has a strange dream. It feels like a memory:

_A small boy, heavily bundled in a blue coat and scarf, wandered down a snowy forest path, his brown hair swaying in the wind. He looked around three years old. It was the dead of winter, and thick white flakes drifted down from the sky. Frozen ground_ crunched _beneath his soft leather boots. The long, thin stick he held trailed a thin line through the snow. His father was at the house behind him, administering healing. Clearly the boy had wandered off._  

_He hummed a hymn under his breath, the familiar_ Ave Verum Corpus _that Jeanne sang so well._

_There was a soft noise, and the boy trudged toward an old, broken birch stump. Behind the stump was a fat little thrush with a broken wing and leg. Red dots trailed behind it on the white ground. Caster waits for the boy to call his father over._

_He didn’t. Instead he crouched down in front of the bird and stared at it. He analyzed every detail, his eyes slowly raking over the sight like an art aficionado looks at a beautiful portrait. The longer the bird struggled and_ chirped _feebly, the more his lips subtly began to curl._

_Caster watches entranced as the small, easily missed smile bloomed on the boy’s face. Watching someone so young begin to realize his desires is a wonderful thing—especially when that desire carries similarities to his own._

_He only gets more intrigued when the boy raised his stick as if to flog the bird…and placed it on the ground. His gloved hands reached out, cupped the bird’s wing, and began to glow blue…_

Caster’s eyes snap open to the soft sound of retreating feet. He leans forward a little in his stiff wooden chair, wide awake thanks to his years of soldiering. There’s a lamp glowing dully on the desk by his chair, which isn’t _that_ strange—Kirei is the type to study scripture and apocrypha late into the night, and Caster heard the light turn on before he slept. What _is_ strange, however, is that there’s no scripture to be seen.

And Caster’s spellbook isn’t where he left it.

It’s resting close at hand, but a patch of lamplight illuminates the spine—and the book was certainly out of the light before…

Caster chuckles knowingly to himself and settles back in his chair. _Ah, the boundless curiosity of youth..._

\---

He manages to ensnare three children away from their parents before Kirei bothers to notice.  

Today’s little girl is small for her age, and slight, but she has mana to drain and is easily swayed by hypnosis. She waits patiently in the church’s basement like a lamb to the slaughter as Caster continues preparations. _The door is locked, the choir has just begun upstairs, and my spellbook is on the correct page…_

“How long will your parents be here, little girl?” he asks cheerfully, not bothering to turn.

“Until the end of the sermon,” she drones in reply.

“Excellent!” The single _clap_ of Caster’s hands resounds in the cold stillness. “You and I will have plenty of time to create art together, then.”

The girl stares dully at the floor, her eyes half-lidded. She appears to be dozing off, but Caster doesn’t mind. She’ll be _very_ awake in a moment.

“Can we paint pretty pictures?” she asks, her words sluggish.

“Of course! _All_ art is welcome here.” _The more profane, the better._

Just as Caster’s about to begin the incantation, Kirei storms in.

His skin is taught with strong and undiluted rage, and it’s utterly fascinating. Kirei doesn’t let Caster speak; he lectures on and _on_ about not desecrating the house of God, and in particular not tormenting children. _Ah, so_ this _is the impregnable boundary! It’s a little disappointing, but…there are other ways._

“Very well, I’ll set the child free,” Caster says, and does—he even wipes her memory clean of the event.

He turns to Spirit form as his Master ushers the girl out, explaining about how one could get lost down here. Once the girl is safely upstairs, Kirei comes back down and leans against the wall like a delinquent, arms folded and head cocked to one side.

“What were you planning to do to her?”

“I’m pleased to have caught your interest!” He shuffles over and shows the spellbook’s page to him. “Can you see this inscription here? I was planning to summon this fear-devouring demon to feast upon her flesh, and then obtain her mana myself!”

“Hm. But that seems…wasteful, somehow.”

Caster puffs up in offense. “ _Wasteful?_ What do you mean?”

For a moment, Kirei’s eyes seem brighter than usual. That spark quickly fades into dreariness. “A child cannot carry as much mana as an adult. Haven’t I gave you good food, and kept you rested?” His scowl deepens. “…If it becomes necessary, I’ll provide you with my bodily fluids for a stronger mana source. You have my word.”

Caster considers it. “Well, if you feel so strongly against using children and are willing to compensate…very well. The children will be unmolested from now on.”

“Good.” Kirei stretches mechanically and listens to the choir singing above. “To ensure you keep your word, I’ll keep mine. We’ll do the transfer now. That should hold you for a few days, at least.”

He rolls up his sleeve without another word.

_You would be a terrible playwright,_ Caster thinks, but then again blood-drinking in the bowels of a church is as theatrical as it gets.

The taste of copper sparks on his tongue and feels as heavy as wine. 

After the transfer is finished (Kirei doesn’t flinch), Caster asks “Would _women_ be acceptable to use, Master?”

There’s a long, contemplative pause before Kirei replies “If you’re subtle about it. Pick someone who isn’t likely to be missed.”

Caster remembers the dream from last night, of a deathly-pale silver-haired woman who could barely stand, and Kirei carrying her to the bath as if she were made of down. _His fingers left bruises on her skin, like ink on parchment. He looked at them—at her—like she was an angel in the flesh…_

“A sickly woman, then?”   

“Yes.”

Caster watches his Master’s face twist in self-revulsion and only half-listens to his order to forget what he said. _Oh, you poor lost soul. Perhaps I was sent to your side for a reason…_

He doesn’t say so aloud. Kirei would shoot down his soothing words if he did.

Much to his disgust, Kirei wastes a Command Seal on him anyway. His honor besmirched, he seethes invisibly as children frolic ignorantly before him.

Despite this, he feels no hate for his Master, only pity. The taste of copper lingers for days on his tongue.

\---

Caster is very pleased when Kirei comes down to see his recent masterpiece _._

“What do you think?” he asks breathlessly, as Kirei stares at the warped body chained to the basement floor.

A muttered prayer and sign of the cross sullies Caster’s workshop, but he finds it in himself to ignore it. _Now he has given himself permission to survey and enjoy._

Kirei walks slowly around Caster’s artwork, soaking in every detail even as his expression curdles. The woman’s nut-brown eyes—the only part of her Caster allows to move—follow him. The pupils are dilated in fear, and tears stain the slick muscles of her face.

“You used the woman’s own ligaments and muscle for the bindings?” The words are detached, as though looking at a bland painting. “Why not use chains or rope?”

Caster shrugs. “Those are such… _ordinary_ substances. Using the woman’s own body against her makes her fear far more potent! Can you not see the blind terror in her eyes?”

“…Indeed I can.”

Kirei crouches down at the woman’s side and runs his fingers against her taut, bare neck. For a moment Caster fears he’ll try to repair his art, but he doesn’t. He just strokes her neck the way one would a pet. His eyes are glazed over—in thought or pleasure Caster can’t tell.

“Caster.”

“Yes?”

“You didn’t use her vocal folds. Why?”

“It never crossed my mind.” He grins. “What do you suggest?”

There’s a long, uncomfortable pause.

“Nothing. Pardon my interruption.” Kirei stands and leaves.

Disappointment floods through Caster. He listens to the soft, raw cries his artwork emits. He looks upon it and sees not a masterpiece, but the work of an amateur. No _wonder_ Kirei left.

His mind roiling with thoughts of failure and futility, he sets to work erasing his creation’s existence.

Muscle _squelches_ and _rips_ between his fingers. He finds no beauty in its music.

\---

After that failure of an artwork, however, Kirei slowly begins to open up to him. Not by answering questions, but by posing questions himself. These sessions occur in Kirei’s bronze-colored living room, with Kirei on the reddish-brown sofa and Caster on the couch.

“Did you truly know Jeanne D’Arc? What was she like?”

Caster’s answer is a long time coming, full of forlorn pauses and wordless rage, but it comes nonetheless. “She was Holier than Mary. She was blessed— _truly_ blessed—with courage and kindness and the determination to see her Holy mission through to completion! Her virginity was untouchable—even the Saints Catherines’ claims to being Christ’s wife paled in comparison to Jeanne’s glorious devotion. Indeed, she _must_ have been Christ herself, for she went to the pyre alone, without fear. Who could allow herself to die without her companion’s company? Only Jeanne, the greatest of maidens!”

Kirei absorbs this information quietly, his calm expression never changing. He asks: “Then your… _actions_ …they were of a suicidal nature?”

Caster’s heart lurches. He fights to regain his composure. “A-Absolutely not! If I were to commit suicide, I would never again be in Jeanne’s presence!”

“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to doubt you. It was merely a question.”

“…Apology accepted.”

Sooner or later, the questions would begin again, one or two per evening: _Your spellbook can summon demons—is there no limit? Is it truly made of human skin? How was it made, and why? Do you think Jeanne would have liked it? How did you learn to perform such…desecration? What drove you to such monstrosities? Where were you when Jeanne died, and why didn’t you go to her? Do you wish for God to punish you, or Jeanne?_

The last question in particular pricks at Caster’s heart, and reopens doubt that he had thought long lost. He answers as best he can—after all, he is the teacher here.

_The summoning is limitless. The skin is indeed human! Prelati and I used the skin of a young donor who wished to be immortalized. I'm unsure. I am a self-taught artist; I began with theatre and ended with sculpture. I'm unsure. I was back at home, working on my theatrical debut; I'm unsure as to why I never went. I refuse to answer that question._

The title of "teacher" is self-appointed. Most of his days are spent as a mere guard, keeping watch over the church or the Rude Teacher’s study whenever Kirei goes to visit. Its work suited for a Familiar, and more than once Caster voices his offense. However, he is rewarded by being allowed to continue his works of art in the basement every Sunday; it seems a fair enough trade.

When Kirei comes down to visit, like a respectful patron, the trade seems more of a blessing _._ Kirei learns more everyday, endlessly curious and full of new ideas.

Before long, he joins the profane revels. Kirei begins with creating a harp made of an ill woman’s vocal folds and bone and only excels from there.

“Truly, a teacher could not be more blessed! I would’ve never _considered_ an altar made of bones and draped in a cloth of skin…or a grail made of children’s bones! Your beautiful atrocities are genius, Kirei—genius in their blasphemy! God shall look down upon us and shudder, of that I’m sure.”

For the first time, Kirei smiles, showing off his pure white teeth. He places a gore-stained hand over his heart and bows. “I had an excellent teacher. How could I not create such art? I shall carry on your work with pride.”

The wonderfully vile masterworks around them stand in glorious testimony to this fact.

Caster pushes aside the thought that _Kirei_ , not he, is the true artist here.

\---

On a night as starlit and quiet as any other, Kirei and Caster go for a stroll.

It becomes _very_ clear to Caster that this “stroll” is not without purpose. Kirei’s stride is too knowing and brisk for that. The trees sway above them, their branches grasping like claws as the pair pass. The moon rests blindingly bright in the bruise-colored sky, whole and untarnished.

Caster wants to ask: _Where are we going?_ But his question is soon answered as they stop a distance away from the Tohsaka mansion. He thinks wistfully of his own estate, snatched up by the church for its own ends. _Their time in Hell shall be long and bleak…_

“The time has come for your true duty,” Kirei says with a smile. “You are to break into the Tohsaka mansion and annihilate his Servant.”

_That sounds…wrong, somehow._ “Were you not allies?”

Kirei’s smile grows wider. “I have a new ally now. Don’t worry, you’ll easily handle his Servant. You are no coward, as you’ve proven.”

_But I_ was _, I wasn’t at Jeanne’s side, she was alone and afraid…_ He shakes the thoughts aside and puts on his bravest face. “You can rely on me, dear Kirei!”

With a Command Seal to bolster his speed and strength, Caster departs. _I will make you proud, my Master! Your smile will never vanish again!_

He reaches the mansion in moments. Summoning his fear-eaters, he storms the gates as a soldier should. He cackles with exhilaration as the wrought iron _snaps_ like a child’s neck.

As soon as he steps inside, he is assaulted by gold.

Arrows, axes, swords and polearms are launched at his army. They fall by the dozens, screeching in pain. Cold hatred roars through him. _This can only be the work of a Holy warrior!_ He shouts his blaspheme-filled challenge to the golden light above, its brilliance defiling the night sky.

“Holy warrior, deluded by Christ’s false light, abandon yourself to gibbering fear, and let your foul God tremble—”

Another barrage of weapons hits him, and he has no time to scream. His mind is clouded by pain. Pain is replaced by fear and confusion. Blood trickles hotly down his neck as he gurgles feebly. Tears burn his eyes. _Kirei…Jeanne…where are you? Please save me…!_

As if through a fog, he hears Tohsaka’s Servant call out “A grotesque creature like yourself should have been erased long ago. What Master would keep you alive, if not for cruel sport?”

The chill of betrayal pierces Caster’s heart as he fades to nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and feedback are appreciated.


End file.
